But at last he succeeded in moving the rolling-pin over the dough as he had seen his wife move it.
"He ain't greasin' the pie-plates," said Sarah, as Cephas brought a piece of dough with a dexterous jerk over a plate; "there ain't much animal in the little mite of lard it takes to grease a plate." Cephas spread handfuls of sorrel leaves over the dough; then he brought the molasses-jug from the pantry, raised it, and poured molasses over the sorrel with an imperturbable air.
Sarah watched him; then she turned to Charlotte.

"To think of eatin' it!" she groaned, quite openly; "it looks like p'ison." Charlotte made no response; she knitted as one of the Fates might have spun.

Sarah sank down on a chair, and looked away from Cephas and his cookery, as if she were overcome, and quite done with all remonstrance.
Never before had she shown so much opposition towards one of her husband's hobbies, but this galloped so ruthlessly over her own familiar fields that she had plucked up boldness to try to veer it away.
Somebody passed the window swiftly, the door opened abruptly, and Mrs.Deborah Thayer entered.

"_Good_-mornin'," said she, and her voice rang out like a herald's defiance.
Sarah Barnard arose, and went forward quickly.

"Good-mornin'," she responded, with nervous eagerness.